


Empires Fall

by DustySoul



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Caretaking, Comfort Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub Undertones, Hate Sex, Historical Accuracy, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 18:37:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5302466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustySoul/pseuds/DustySoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It may be that his first mistake was visiting Burr’s house drunk.</p><p>It may be that his first mistake was visiting to Burr’s house…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empires Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Lacuna who helped me with a lot of the dialogue for this and snailshell who held my hand as I struggled to write porn for, basically, the first time. If you hadn't assured me that this was, in fact, sexy, at every term, I never would have been able to write it.
> 
> Written for this prompt  
> http://hamiltonprompts.tumblr.com/post/134058289175/after-learning-of-laurens-death-a-heartbroken
> 
> Also a warning about consent, little spoiler-y, see the end notes for detail

Perhaps his first mistake was visiting Burr’s house drunk.

Perhaps his first mistake was visiting Burr’s house…

Yet this is where is feet have taken him, in perhaps the first real decision he’d made since the news in that dreadful letter… 

 

He’d, at first, done nothing, maybe for hours. His mind had never been so blank, so sluggish, so starved for words. He’d never been so desperate. There was just a ringing in his ears like the toll of the bell, months late and miles away.

Eliza’s words were so far away. Like he was not sitting in his study penning a letter that started, “ _My dear Laurens”_ and chided his friend for his infrequent responses. Yet he was not on a battle field in South Carolina either, not hearing the full wail of that bell. He was somewhere in-between.

She’d reached out to him, to comfort. He startled so badly as to knock over the ink well and scatter his papers.

And wordlessly he left, unable to tolerate this house and the presence of someone else who had loved him _a la francoise._ He walked, aimless, morbid in his musings.

 

A bar and a few hours later take him here, being led into the sitting room where Burr works. It’s far past the hour for such a visit to be polite. But when has that ever stopped him?

“Are you well?” Burr asks, concerned as soon as his eyes light upon Hamilton.

What a state he must look, up for days writing without even mentioning the added stress of… He closes his eyes, chest suddenly heavy, eyes suddenly burning. Snapping his eyes open he heads straight into a flurry of words,“No. I assure you I am well. Thank you for your concern, but it is misplaced.” and starts pacing the parlor. 

“Then what can I do for you, surely this is not a social call?”Burr raises an eyebrow at him.

“Can a man not visit one who he assumed a friend without a gilded invitation? I had thought myself welcomed in your house, but would you prefer your solitude I would be happy to oblige, sir.” spits, turning to leave, suddenly realizing the gravity of this mistake and the idiocy of his actions.

But Burr’s words stop him, “Hamilton, be reasonable. Of course you are welcome in my home. And while I am used to you stopping in with no warning and at odd hours for matters of _political importance_ I assumed you have the good sense to get to the point or follow the guides of good breeding.”

“You insult my up bringing!”

“I insult your manners, now come to your senses!” Burr stands as well, accepting the futility of trying to keep working while Hamilton is under his roof.

“I am unreasonable, unwelcome, and unwanted. Very well, tell your butler I shall sleep in the stables tonight, if he would be good enough to allow me a patch of hay and a pail of water to dunk my head.”

“Hamilton! Stay, drink, eat, rest. But do not insult me by pretending I would kick you out from under my roof to sleep with the horses. Though if you only came to start a fight I do wish you would have sent a head. I have actual work to do and I haven’t the time to trade insults.”

“You haven’t the time for your oldest of friends?”

“Hamilton! You are being unreasonable! As I’m sure you’re fully aware. You come to my house when you know I will not be in a position to receive guests and the first words out of your mouth are insult! What is the meaning of this? The oldest friends, yes, but surely not the dearest if you would talk to me so carelessly. Sleep in my stables! Ha! I would insist you share my bed before sending you to sleep on hay. If you’re just in one of your moods… well I shouldn’t be surprised you’d walk all this way just to insult me in person. But surely it would have taken less effort to put it onto paper or in the print.”

Hamilton huffs, “I’m not in a _mood_ , as you so crassly put it. And I have no desire to commit anything to paper, nor print.”

“Of course, you’re simply being yourself. I should have guessed.”

“Sometimes I despair that you have never known me, nor I you.”

Burr sighs, accepting the futility of the situation,“Finally, something we agree on. Though, who’s fault is that? And don’t bring up my politics, Hamilton, this isn’t the time.” Burr turns to go back to his work.

Hamilton blocks his way,“You’re politics are the least of it!” He scatters the papers on Burr's desk.

Burr shoves him away, pushing him back to the center of the room, “Hamilton!” He bellows, getting truly angry for what might be the first time since Hamilton has known him, “What the hell has gotten into you?! Control yourself!”

Hamilton pushes back, yelling “I’m fine!” But Burr easily dominates his space. “Nothing’s wrong!” Until he’s pressed up against, Burr’s hand on his chest. They’re both breathing heavily. “Nothing’s gotten- I’m perfectly- You!” Hamilton yells, biting back tears.

“You strain my hospitality.” Burr mutters into Hamilton’s face. He shoves Hamilton roughly, crashing him into an adjacent wall, closer toward the door way.

Hamilton’s head cracks against the plaster an it sends the world spinning. Burr holds him up while he’s unsteady. Once stable he, lunges, trying to crash his lips into Burr’s.

He gets his head slammed into the wall again and bites his cheek with the force of it. The blood’s hot in his mouth and in his veins. Burr holds him by his jaw in a grip that will bruise.

“Is this what you came here for, you bootlicker?”

Hamilton huffs, still breathing rapidly, his face hot.

“Well look at you. Pitiable.”

“Kiss me.” Hamilton demands, straining against Burr’s grip.

Burr scoffs, affronted.

"I said kiss me." Hamilton struggles again.

Burr indulges him, _barely_. His lips whisper across Hamilton’s. The contact tingles, the touch too light to truly be felt.

Hamilton laughs, cruel and humorless, “You never could take what you want. Not even when it’s thrust-”

And Burr presses in more insistently but still dissatisfyingagainst Hamilton, who writhes under Burr’s overly cautious administrations. He should have known Burr would be like this, cold and calculating in his anger. Hamilton traps that bottom lip between his teeth and bites as hard as he can.

 _There._ Burr slaps him across the face, and Hamilton almost falls, except he’s pinned. The slap stops that abhorrent ringing, at the least.

“Kiss me.” Hamilton says again, this time it’s a threat, “Like you mean it.”

Burr does. He takes and takes until Hamilton is gasping, shaky and breathless.

“Take me.” He says.

“What?” Burr almost let's Hamilton, who is unable to stand under his own power, fall.

“Take me! Have your way with me! Bugger me. Do it.” He growls.

Burr manhandles him, escorting him out of the parlor. For a moment Hamilton thinks this is it, he’s gone too far and is finally being thrown out until Burr pulls him to the stairs. The spirits in his blood send a wave a nausea through him. Luck, and Burr’s hand on his back is all that stops him from falling. 

Too quickly he’s shoved into Burr’s bed with Burr coming to sit astride his hips. He doesn’t tease with those feather light kisses, making quick work of Hamilton’s vest and shirt. The air chills his exposed skin, Burr licking stripes into his chest only makes it worse and he shivers. 

That hollowness, pushed back by whisky and angry words, creeps up on him. He doesn’t even notice Burr removing his pants or the rhythm of their hips together. He doesn’t notice when it’s stopped or Burr brushing the tears off of his cheeks.

“Are you well?” He whispers, the friendly concern from earlier replaced with tender compassion.

Hamilton shivers, a small sob tumbling from his lips. Burr kisses him, sweet and gentle. It’s firm, but with no hard anger or irritation behind it. And it grounds him, allows him to get his breathing under control.

“What was this all about?” Burr doesn’t pull away, instead he kisses along Hamilton’s face, his eye lids, his cheeks, his jaw, his nose, his brow.

“Laurens is dead.” His voice creaks, he trembles.

Burr moves.

“Don’t leave me!” Hamilton cries.

“I wouldn’t think of it.” He repositions them. Hamilton’s legs crossed at Burr’s back, Burr, above Hamilton, curling into him and curling Hamilton further into himself. “How can I help?” What little peace Burr’s domination allowed Hamilton is shattered with that simple question. It revives the fight in his blood and Burr has to hold his hands to the bed above his head to keep from getting hit.

Burr’s able to hold fast. It fades as quickly as it had come, only replaced by a fresh wave of tears.

Burr rocks them back and forth, humming a barely remembered lullaby. After an internal debate he returns to kissing Hamilton as he’d had been. He might feel guilty if it didn’t calm is friend so effectively and if Hamilton's lips weren't so responsive under his own. The tears still flow, but Hamilton breathes easier, only gasping every now and then.

“I meant it.” He says.

Burr half hoped Hamilton had fallen asleep, but apparently not.

“Bugger me, please.”

Burr pulls back, running his hands down Hamilton’s chest to curb the feeling of abandonment which had caused his friend to call out earlier. 

“Why?”

Hamilton visibly struggles to keep his breath even, “Make me feel something, please.”

Burr stretches a moment to grab the oil from his bedside drawer. Hamilton sighs watching him, his eyes flutter close for just a moment. The grip of his legs around Burr’s back loosens. And it’s this reaction that convinces Burr that this isn’t an act of self destruction, but one of self revival.

He preps Hamilton while his friend hums and shifts at each gentle probe and intrusion. It’s not what he would have expected. Only the shift of the bed, their breathing, and Hamilton’s soft moans break the silence.

The words he expected to tumble from those lips are instead written all across his body. The slow undulation of his muscles as the pleasure dances through him. The way his bones seem to roll under his skin, a few beads of sweat settle above his collar bone. The expressions flowing across his face, the way his lips move around each little sigh and huff of air. 

Hamilton goes completely still when Burr removes his fingers. He whines at the loss but doesn’t fidget. Burr runs a hand up and down Hamilton’s ribs with his free hand.

 His whole body responds to Burr’s first thrust. Burr goes slow, easy. Hamilton wraps his arms around Burr, pulling them closer. They stay like that, intertwined and catching their breaths.

“Are you okay?”

Hamilton closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and says, “I will be.” His gaze locks onto Burr’s.

Burr starts to rock. At first he just moves his hips in circles, watching as such small movements overwhelm Hamilton. Before barely pulling out and easing back in again. A silent aw builds up on him, watching his friend, his rival, squirming so elegantly in illicit pleasure. 

Even with red eyes and tears running down his face Hamilton is beautiful. Burr bends down to kiss him until Hamilton’s breath turns frantic and are interrupted with more sobs than presses of their lips. He wraps his arms around Hamilton’s torso and rests his head against his friend’s chest, over his heart. All the way still gently moving inside him.

The quality of Hamilton’s breath changes, still crying but instead of the pained, sharp inhales he’s started to relax once more. The little hitches in his breath get longer, more keening. His walls clench around Burr before his climax.

Burr, who'd been focused intently on Hamilton groans. He rests his face against his friend’s chest. Some how he hadn’t been expecting these pulses shuddering through Hamilton's body and into Burr's own. Once his concentration on Hamilton is broken his awareness of his own pleasure rushes in. It feels like he might only exist as this sensation at the base of his spine, just a bundle of nerve tingling in the ether. He can struggles to move, pants into Hamilton’s skin.

The other man's languid stretching is enough to send him over the edge. And for a timeless moment it feels like he doesn’t exist at all. He feels nothing. And he feels so much.

Once he's regained awareness he tracks down a cloth to whip himself and Hamilton down then settles into bed, sweaty, tired and boneless.

"He was a good man." Hamilton states.

"I know." 

**Author's Note:**

> Hang out with me on tumblr  
> dusty-soul.tumblr.com
> 
> This is also one of my first explicit fics. I'm going through a mid life crises. I used to only write teen and gen! AAHHHH!
> 
> Consent Warning: Hamilton is drunk, He also dissociates in the middle. But then he's grounded again and wants to move forward and there are no concerns after that.


End file.
